


Bubbling Accusations

by GerbilofTriumph



Category: King's Quest (Video Games)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, just good guards doing their best, mild descriptions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GerbilofTriumph/pseuds/GerbilofTriumph
Summary: Royal Guard Number One is not having a particularly good night, what with the recent goblin kidnapping endangering the entire kingdom—and when he thinks he sees his colleague threatening Graham, his defensiveness kicks in.
Kudos: 4





	Bubbling Accusations

**Author's Note:**

> An implied scene not included in the fic [Captive Crown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21173510/chapters/50398010)\--but shared for Whumptober~!
> 
> [Inspired illustration (with added rubber duckie) over yonder.](https://gerbiloftriumph.tumblr.com/post/632346469421268992/telthor-i-swear-this-is-actually-a-squeaky-clean)

Royal Guard Number One tried to tell his feet to move. To pick a direction. To go. Somewhere. Anywhere. He was ignored by his own traitorous body. He was being pulled in five different directions at once, and all he could do was stand still in the hall, leaning behind a door in a patch of shadow. No one would see him there. No one would call him out. No one would be able to accuse him of uncertainty once all was said and done. But he had to take a moment to collect himself.

This was…this was bad. The king had been kidnapped by goblins, the guards they had sent to rescue him had been captured too, the kingdom had been leaderless and panicked and empty for over a week, the king had rescued _himself_ , the king had come back with all the missing villagers and the (very sheepish) guards, the king looked weak enough to push over with the feather in his own adventuring cap, and No1 didn’t know what to do next. He hadn’t felt so petrified with too many critical tasks since King Edward passed away. Not even then, since they’d been sort of expecting it, what with how sick he’d been, and they’d been able to delegate tasks well in advance.

This was…this was a mess. His focus needed to be on Graham, on making sure he was safe and sound, but he wanted to check the perimeter, wanted to check the other freed prisoners, wanted to check on the status of the tea (theoretically for the exhausted villagers and Graham but frankly he felt like he needed to guzzle a whole pot just to center himself). Too much to do, no time to do it, no direction to go, and he felt like he couldn’t trust anyone but himself. Not now. Not after everything.

This was…this was… _no. Pull yourself together._ He took a deep breath, held it, blew it out in a rush, and hurried back toward the royal bedchambers to see how Royal Guard Number Two was getting on with helping Graham clean off the layers of gunk accumulated over the course of captivity.

He pushed open the door. And froze, panic turning his blood to ice.

Graham was slumped in the copper tub, soapy water almost up to his chin. No2 was kneeling beside the tub, holding a scrubbing brush high, looking for all the world like he’d just clocked Graham across the head with it, knocked him out cold. The king’s mouth was slack, and No2 looked worried, and No1’s first thought, flashing by in an instant, was, _It was an inside job, he’s working with the goblins, he’s going to finish what they started, I can’t believe this, I’ve got to stop this_ now.

No1 reached down and flicked the safety catch off his scabbard with his thumb so he could pull his sword free, and he started forward, yelling, “What the hells are you—”

But No2 frantically made shushing motions, waving his hands. He put the scrubbing brush carefully on the ground, hands up in desperate surrender. “No, no, please,” he whispered. “Please, no, quiet, please, don’t, you’ll wake him up!”

“What are you _doing_?” No1 demanded, forcing his voice down to a sharp hiss, hand still uneasily resting on the hilt of his sword, but no longer drawing it.

No2 looked close to bursting into nervous tears. “He just fell asleep!” he said, voice barely audible over the snapping fireplace. No1 stepped forward cautiously, watching the shadows in case he was going to get jumped by someone also in on this plot. “He got in the water himself and then he was just…out. It’s not…I didn’t do anything.”

“So, wake him up!” No1 said testily, snapping the little catch back on his scabbard with practiced ease, not even glancing at it. The sword was fully sheathed again. He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers against his armor, waiting for some excuse.

“I…did you see his face? Did you see his eyes? This might be the only time he’s been able to actually _sleep_. You should see the bruises on his legs. All the scrapes and scratches. I don’t know what they did to him, but you can’t…I can’t…I don’t want to….”

“What, you were going to wash him yourself?” The very idea was ridiculous.

“I can’t put him to bed like this, he’s disgusting!” That, at least, was decidedly apparent without a debate. “But I don’t want to wake him up. I mean, we helped wash Edward, toward the end, when he was so sick—”

“Never while he was flat unconscious,” No1 said, but the fear lacing his words was fading. The little scene was recognizable now. He could imagine it happening: Graham, falling asleep in the bubbles and the warmth, probably feeling safe for the first time in ages. The fact that he hadn’t woken up despite No1’s shouts of alarm was sign enough in itself that the king was in a proper rough state.

“Please, won’t you help me?” No2 said. “You haven’t seen…he’s in a bad way, Ken.” No1 hesitated over the breach in protocol in front of their principal charge, even if their principal charge _was_ snoring softly, but No2 pushed on, “I don’t think I can do this by myself, I need help, but we _can’t_ wake him up. We just can’t. Please.”

No1 took another deep breath, held it, stared, thought, released the breath in a rush. _I trust him. Of course, I trust him. I can’t believe I ever thought otherwise._ “Okay,” he said. “Okay. But. Stay here. I’ll get Number Four to start bringing in fresh water—that tub looks spent already, we’ll need clean water. And more towels. And I’ll tell Number Three to bring up that tea.”

“But he’s unconscious, he won’t—”

“Believe me, it’s not for him.” No1 looked at the scene again, sighed, shook his head, and said, “You’ve made the right call, Matt. Keep him safe. I’ll be back in a minute with help. We’ll take care of him, don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine. And…and I’m sorry I yelled at you. I know you better. I shouldn’t have reacted like I did.”

No2 looked at the scrubbing brush that he had been holding over Graham’s head just a minute ago. “I mean, it didn’t look good, did it? After everything that’s happened?”

“Not especially.”

No2 brightened. “I won’t tell anyone you flipped out and thought I tried to kill the king if you promise not to tell anyone what I did at dinner two nights ago.”

“Wasn’t going to anyway.”

“Figured not. Roommate air high five?”

“Roommate air high five,” No1 agreed, and they made some complicated gestures at each other while Graham snored on, entirely oblivious.


End file.
